


this day anything goes

by feyluke



Series: 5sos shadowhunter au [4]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ghosts, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, M/M, Paranormal, Parody, and watching lotr ;), ghost cliches, shadowhunters au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:38:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7143047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyluke/pseuds/feyluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's halloween and calum is exploring an abandoned building. the ghost he finds is definitely paranormal, but not exactly a ghost...</p>
            </blockquote>





	this day anything goes

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr, halloween 2014 for my bff.

a step creaks.

michael looks up from his book (edgar allen poe’s _the black cat_ on halloween—he believes in clichéd traditions) and hopes it’s just the shifting of an old building. a nosy disposable demon would be okay, too.

more creaking and eventually a beam of light flashes down the hallway.

he silently closes his book and scowls. he supposes he can’t be too annoyed. it’s a dark abandoned place—dark abandoned places are going to be pestered on halloween. whoever this other person is, they’re here for the same reason michael is: the spooky setting. michael resists the urge to yell “it’s not haunted!” and douses his candle (pumpkin spice scented). he sets a glamour and waits for the human to get bored and move on.

every year, michael likes to find a quiet, secluded place to read the gothic stories his mother used to read to him. the classics: poe, lovecraft, radcliffe. he left home years ago, so long it now seems like a past life. in his past life, he was a happy normal boy with normal parents. he had a secret, he could manipulate the energy of things around him, but he knew enough from the stories his mother read to keep it hidden so he could remain normal. his new life began when his horns developed and his magic grew stronger, uncontrollable. he left before he could be driven away. halloween, with all its costumes and elements of horror, brought memories of his mother reading to him before bed (and his father asking her not to, for fear of poisoning the mind) and the date remained a mournful one. a day of remembrance.

the creaking gets closer, bringing michael further and further out of the past, farther from his parents. like most humans, the person is trying so very hard to be quiet and utterly failing. michael is in the middle of deciding whether it’s worth just levitating the person out of the building when, eventually, a head pops in through the doorway of the room michael is sitting in.

he’s a kid. maybe sixteen, seventeen years old. dark hair, dark eyes, an i’m-relatively-intelligent-but-prone-to-stupidity face. he’s dressed (michael guesses) like a ghostbusters character. the kid crinkles his nose and michael glares at his candle, realising the kid probably smells it.

michael considers his options. remain hidden under a glamour and wait. or! remain hidden under a glamour and fuck with the kid. as the kid ventures into the room, obviously looking for some paranormal activity to spice up his evening, michael likes option b more and more. he runs through his list of paranormal clichés as he stands up from his spot in the corner of the room. the kid is systematically taking inventory of every object in the room. after the kid has moved his gaze from michael’s side of the room, michael raises the glamour from his book. the kid’s eyes sweep over it a few seconds later, and grow wide. now, he is probably taking in the unsettled dust where michael had been curled up, something he missed earlier.

the kid’s accelerated breath shows that he’s taken the bait, and michael swishes his hand, animating the chair on the other side of the room. the kid’s head whips around as the chair scrapes along the hardwood floor, leaving a trail in the dust. he whispers, “fuck,” and moves to the chair, touches it, feels the air around it. michael leaves the room, scratching his fingernails along the wall in his wake. there are some old pictures left hanging in the hall, and he pushes them off their nails, despondently wailing the entire time.  
the kid, of course, follows, eyes narrowed and suspicious now.

 _he doesn’t buy it_ , michael realises, and smiles. he supposes the wailing _was_ overkill.

michael heads for the small kitchen and goes for the one of the Big Clichés. he stands just a few steps in front of the doorway (maybe the kid will bump into him) and spreads his palms up toward the ceiling. as the energy passes from his hands, each cupboard creaks open slowly in sync. the kid stops just short of the doorway, face slack and eyes wide again, and michael makes a dish cloth rise up from a drawer, a mock sheet ghost, and float toward the kid.

the kid backs away from the mock sheet ghost and says, “time for a handprint on the window now…right?” a slight shake runs through his voice, like he’s not entirely sure he’s caught a hoax.

michael crosses over to the dirty window and presses his palm into the dirt, smearing it off to the side.

“i didn’t know ghosts watched ghost movies,” says the kid. he remains outside the doorway, though, freaked out enough to be wary and ready to run.  
michael removes the glamour and grins at the kid. “well, i’m sure some do.”

the kid clutches the door frame harder, knuckles whitening. “is that a costume? are you a magician or illusionist? are you going to kill me?”

michael taps one of the small black horns on his head. it’d be a pretty weak costume; he’s wearing regular clothes. “hmm i’m not sure. i’m michael.”  
“calum,” the kid slowly responds.

they both eye each other up, unsure why they’re playing this game. michael has never exposed himself while tricking human kids and he leans back into the counter, wondering why he has now. calum hasn’t stopped staring at his horns, the wizard mark that michael started growing when he was fifteen: _he knows_ , michael thinks. he doesn’t know exactly, but he knows.

knowing very well that he should not be further exposing himself to a strange human (god forbid some nosy shadowhunter finds out), michael lifts up his palms, closing the cupboard doors. calum stops staring at michael’s horns and just dumbly opens his mouth in awe at the cupboards—possibly fully accepting that he’s encountered a magical being. the nervous stiffness in his shoulders is gone, and he leans forward, excited. _stupid._

“hey calum,” michael says, “do you want to see a real haunted house?”

_stupid stupid._

calum’s eyes light up. “yeah, do you know any?”


End file.
